


a modern history of velas

by fangirl_squee, madelinestarr



Series: the bird, the book, the shield [2]
Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, declarations of love through microhistory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-29 01:39:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10843821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl_squee/pseuds/fangirl_squee, https://archiveofourown.org/users/madelinestarr/pseuds/madelinestarr
Summary: A modern Velasian history; being the current state of the city of Velas and its occupants, as recorded by Lem King.





	a modern history of velas

**Author's Note:**

> Part 2!! I would like it to be noted that the maddie that is madelinestarr wrote all the microhistory section of this fic part and that the maddie that is fangirl_squee thinks they're amazing.
> 
> Thanks again to lexie for betaing.

Lem was in a large stone room. The walls were lined with bookshelves, old tomes filled with more history than a single orc could read in a lifetime. The ceiling arched impossibly high above him, the intricately carved scenes of pre-Erasure life disappearing into the gloom above. It was a beautiful room, a room he could gladly have spent years reading through and studying. Despite its beauty, it was also not a room any Junior Archivist had any particular fondness for. You only saw the inside of this particular room if you were in some serious trouble.

 

He stood in front of a high pulpit. Seated there, looking down at him, were several elder Archivists he remembered from his studies, looking as stern as ever.

 

“Lem King, do you have anything to add?”

 

Lem’s stomach dropped. “Sorry, I … do I have anything to add to what?”

 

“I said,” said the orc, “do you have anything to add to what we have presented here today?”

 

His mind scrambled for something, anything. “I … no?”

 

The orc nodded. “Very well. You’ve done fine work, bringing us these items for the collection.”

 

“Items?” He couldn’t remember, why couldn’t he remember?

 

“Ah, here are the items now,” said the orc, gaze going to a spot behind Lem.

 

Lem turned. Morbash had entered the room, pushing a tall case covered in a heavy red cloth towards him, nodding to him as he passed. He seemed bizarrely congenial, whatever negative feelings he’d had about Lem smoothed over by whatever it was that Lem had collected. If only Lem could remember what it was.

 

“Sorry, can I just …”

 

Lem pulled at the cloth and it slipped away easily. There, trapped under the glass like moths, were Fero and Hella. Their blank, glassy eyes stared back at him.

 

Lem shot up in bed, gasping for air. Beside him, Hella made a grumbling noise in her sleep at the disrupted covers and turned over, curling around Fero. Everything is the room was just as it was before they’d gone to bed, the predawn light just beginning to come in through the window.

 

Lem put a hand over his mouth, trying to quiet the sound of his ragged breathing. He looked down at the two beside him. Unlike the Hella and Fero in his dream, these ones breathed. Lem watched the slow rise and fall of their chests for a few moments, waiting for his heart to stop pounding.

 

Being extremely careful to not to let the cold air under the blanket, Lem slid the blanket off just himself and got out of bed, tucking it back around Hella gently. The sun had risen enough now that others in Velas would be awake. Sleep didn’t sound _particularly_ appealing, so Lem thought he might as well get a head start on recording the city before starting on interviewing residents for the day.

 

He dressed quietly, making sure to put spare ink and quills into his many coat pockets, slipping in a small piece of bread and an orange left over from the night before as well. He could eat on the way.

 

He picked up his notebook from next to the bed, where he’d left it before they’d gone to bed that night. Slipping on his shoes, he looked back to his two sleeping in the bed, before closing the door as gently as possible behind him. After all, he didn’t want to disturb their sleep.

 

_The god who put the sun in the sky, Samothes, is worshipped by the Velasian peoples. Work begins on the docks (both in the north and the southwest, along the coast of the peninsula) as soon as this sun rises. Much of the city is designated as the Fish District, where a working class of fishermen and their families live, subsisting off the land and sea and the fish that their God has granted them. The docks are awake with calls of nets and supplies to be put on small boats, a day of casting and reeling ahead of them in this hot sun, a blessing._

 

Hella woke in time to see the door of their room click shut (Lem was quiet for an orc, but loud for a human who was used to keeping her senses trained for a fight). Even so, she rolled over, her hand reaching out and finding only empty space beside her, the sheets already cooling in the morning air. In case there was any doubt, when she peered over the side of the bed she could see that Lem’s journal was missing.

 

Hella looked over at the closed door. Lem had been leaving early, excited by the prospect of recording a new kind of history, but he normally waited for them to wake up. Or, at least, that’s what he’d been doing since they’d arrived back in Velas. Hella supposed it was still a little soon for them to have fallen into that much of a predictable rhythm.

 

Fero was still asleep, curled against her side. Hella looked to the window, where she could see the sun beginning to rise, and grinned to herself. This was her favourite time of day.

   

“Fero. Hey. Hey Fero. Fero. Feeeeeero. Fero,” cooed Hella, her voice increasing in volume as she poked him in the shoulder.

 

Fero first curled further into her side. She could feel his face screw up against her shoulder, resisting the urge to wake up.

 

Hella laughed. “Come on Fero, it’s _morning_.”

 

Fero groaned, finally blinking up at her, owl-like. His hair stuck up at odd angles, and there were red marks on his face from the impression of the pillow. Hella smoothed down his hair. He blinked a few more times until his eyes were all halfling, crinkling at the corners as he smiled.

 

“Hey Hella, I thought we had an agreement about how you and Lem should go about waking me before the sun is all the way up,” said Fero, sleepy but still aware of the early hour.

 

“Special circumstances,” said Hella, her voice brisk. “Lem’s gone.”

 

Fero tensed, scanning the room before focussing back onto her. “What do you mean, he’s _gone_? Where would he even go? It’s not like he knows a lot of people in this city.”

 

“But why would he leave so early?”

 

 _And why would he leave without saying goodbye_ , thought Hella.

 

Fero bit his lip. “Did he take his book?”

 

Instead of waiting for her answer he climbed over her, leaning over the edge of the bed to check to spot Lem had left the book the night before. He slipped a little on the sheets, and Hella put her hand on his sides, steadying him.

 

“I think so,” said Hella, “I didn’t see it.”

 

“Huh,” said Fero.

 

He moved back from the edge of the bed but didn’t move back to his original spot, choosing instead to curl up on her lap.

 

“Yeah,” said Hella, drumming her fingers on Fero’s sides, hesitating a moment. “Did he usually leave before dawn? Before I was - I mean, when he was with you at the New Archives.”

 

Fero hummed thoughtfully. “Hard to say. They don’t really have a concept of time like that at the New Archives. There’s barely any windows since, y’know, it’s carved out of a mountain. No sun means day and night are more like abstract concepts.”

 

Hella paused, biting the inside of her cheek. “Is there ... I feel like, lately, he’s been really twitchy? Looking over his shoulder a lot? I just. I’m a fighter.” She looked down at her hands, big on Fero’s tiny frame. Hands that could swing a sword just as well as she could tickle Fero or smoothe Lem’s brow. “I can protect him, if he’s in trouble.”

 

Fero covered her hands with his, tangling their fingers together. “We can _both_ protect him. Preferably in another two hours, when the sun is actually up and not like, just the idea of being up.”

 

He yawned, leaning forward to rest his head on Hella’s shoulder. Hella yawned too, then laughed as Fero ran his hand up her side, tickling her. She could feel his grin against her shoulder, her worries soothed for the moment.

 

It was probably nothing. After all, if Fero wasn’t worrying about Lem, then why should she? Lem would come back to them soon enough.

 

_The Fish District is boardered on the west by the Garden District: an area for the ruling elite and extremely wealthy. To the west is the Sun District, where the church of Samothes rises, high above the small dwellings (paid for by the church) that surround it. Out beyond the Sun District are the fields. Wheat and barley, for bread and for beer, are grown here. Orange trees, as well, grow in this climate. At least, they did. A recent snowstorm has been catastrophic, since it landed on the Day of High Sun (a summer solstice and new year festivity on the same day), freezing the fields and months of hard work that was about to pay off with the harvest that was supposed to start this month._

 

The sun was almost all the way up when a messenger knocked on their door. Hella raised her eyebrow at Fero and he shrugged. Hella got up to answer it, pulling the bedsheet with her and wrapping it around herself.

 

“Oh come on,” said Fero, sleepily trying to find something to replace the warmth before giving up and flopping back down dramatically onto the mattress.

 

Hella laughed. “It’s time to get up anyway, think of this as motivation.”

 

Her sword was leaning against the wall, and she put one hand on it as she opened the door a fraction. “Yes?”

 

“Message for you,” said a voice, and a child’s hand holding an envelope slipped through the entrance, “from Hadrian, Sword of Samothes, Defender of the Un-”

 

“Yes, thank you,” said Hella.

 

“Do you want a return message?” said the boy from the other side of the door.

 

“Hold on.” She tore open the seal, scanning her eyes over the page and sighing. “No, I’ll go see him myself.”

 

She took her hand off her sword to fish a couple of coins out of the purse looped around the hilt.

 

“Thank you!” called the boy.

 

There was the sound of his running footsteps as he hurried away, and Hella closed the door, frowning as she looked over the letter.

 

“So,” said Fero, drawing the word out, “what does Hadrian want?”

 

“It’s nothing, he,” Hella sighed again, still not looking up from the letter, “something happened to him when he was at the Mark of the Erasure, and then with everything that happened on High Sun Day… I think he just wants someone to talk things over with. I don’t think it’s anything to worry about but ...”

 

“Oh,” said Fero, “So I guess you’re heading out.”

 

Hella hummed in agreement, biting her lip as she looked over the letter again.

 

Fero was quiet for a moment. “Does this mean I can have the blanket back?”

 

Hella laughed, stripping off the blanket and throwing it at Fero. By the time he’d untangled himself, she was already mostly dressed, pulling her hair up away from her face into a bun.

 

“Say good morning to Lem for me when he gets back,” said Hella, “and don’t spend _all_ day in bed.”

 

Fero rolled in the blanket, cocooning himself, enjoying the warmth left over from Hella's body. “Hey, I’m not that bad.”

 

Hella looked over at him from where she was affixing her sword to her belt. “You are absolutely that bad.”

 

“I’m sure I’ll get up _eventually_ ,” said Fero, “I mean, being in bed isn’t as fun without the two of you.”

 

Hella huffed a laugh. “Oh really?”

 

Fero waggled his eyebrows at her, and Hella laughed again. She came towards him, leaning one hand on the bed to kiss him. Fero tilted up to meet her, seeking more contact. He wanted to reach for her, convince her to stay for just a little longer, but his hands were trapped under the blanket.

 

“I’ll see you and Lem later tonight?” said Hella, tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear.

 

“Yeah, sure,” said Fero, “see you tonight.”

 

The room seemed a lot quieter, a lot bigger, after she closed the door behind her.

 

Fero rolled over, pulling the blanket over his head, deciding to stay in bed until what he considered to be a much more normal hour. He didn’t have anywhere to be, not really. As the sun rose higher in the sky and Lem still hadn’t returned, Fero figured he should probably go look for him -- just to see what he was up to. Lem was probably fine and had just gotten caught up talking to someone about their family tree. He’d told Hella there was no reason to worry, and there wasn’t.

 

Well. There was _much_ reason to worry. Morbash was still hanging around the city trying to find Lem, but Lem could outwit that guy. Probably. Unless he _had_ gotten caught up talking to someone about their family tree and didn’t notice any approaching guard groups, and....

 

Fero sighed, climbing out of bed and pulling on clothes. It wouldn’t hurt to go check in, see where Lem was at, just in case he… just in case.

 

He turned into a sparrow and flew out, riding the icy gusts higher to get a better view of the city. The city looked chaotic at first glance, but he’d gotten pretty good at reading it from this angle, watching the patterns of foot traffic as people rushed around.

 

Lem had his own patterns of movement, and it didn’t take Fero too long to track him down. Lem had made his way into the older part of the Garden District, where some of the buildings remained from the pre-Erasure days. He looked busy, scribbling down notes while he talked to an apothecary outside of her shop. There was no sign of Morbash, and the woman seemed as happy to go at length about her eight children and seventeen grandchildren as Lem was to listen to her speak about them.

 

Fero stayed as a sparrow, landing gently and sneakily on a close-by bush. He’d just follow Lem for a little while, to make sure everything stayed fine. Lem would never know he was checking up on him.

 

_Surprisingly close to a tumultuous sea, the Garden District has the most architecture that has fared well from before the Great Erasure of Histories and Peoples. I spoke with Carol Tarro about not the history of the building, but how she has used it during her time in the city. Carol tells me that she’s lived in this building of stone her whole life, that she was the youngest of eight children and that they all lived here together, until the others moved to the Fish or Sun Districts. She, herself, stayed, raising her own children and sometimes their children as well. She shows me many, many paintings of them. I have done my best to accurately recreate some of them in the opposite pages. Carol stops at some times, to speak with customers. The bottom floor of this ruin-turned-home has also become Carol’s shop: the Tarro Apothecary: Wonders of the Past to Heal You. Here she sells tinctures and potions with bits of “Ancient Herbs” and the like to heal both the physical and emotional Self. She leans in and conspiratorially tells me that they are just like any other herb, and with a wink, asks me not to tell her customers. One laughs from the door. She sees I have written everything down._

 

As Mrs Tarro told Lem about her many grandchildren and their hobbies, Lem saw a sparrow land on the bougainvillea bush next to her stall. It was unmistakably Fero. He might have passed a more casual inspection, but Lem had gotten remarkably quick at noticing the twitchy, fluttering movement of one of Fero’s transformations.

 

Lem wondered why it was that Fero had come to find him - maybe Fero had a message for him from Hella - and he paused in his writing, watching Fero for a moment out of the corner of his eye. Fero hopped from one branch to another and back again, his head tilting as he looked at Lem. Lem turned his face away to hide a smile. Fero could never be _still_ , not in the way that ordinary animals and birds could, and it gave him away (to Lem, at least) every time.

 

Fero didn’t make any moves toward him, which meant Fero has more likely come to find him because he was worried about Morbash. They’d had an argument over it during the Day of High Sun. Lem had made sure they were out of earshot of Hella first, because one of them worrying over him was more than enough. He was perfectly capable of avoiding Morbash. After all, he’d come this far without incident.

 

And anyway, no good could come from Fero trying to pull some heroic stunt trying to protect him against Morbash. The Junior Archivists whispered stories to each other about Morbash and the things Morbash was willing to do the complete his goals. Lem had no desire for Fero or Hella to feature in one of those stories.

 

Fero didn’t seemed inclined to change back anytime soon though, and that suited Lem just fine. He’d found that Fero could get into a lot less trouble as a sparrow than he could as a halfling, even if Lem wasn’t as good at keeping up conversation with him that way.

 

Some customers approached Mrs Tarro, who politely excused herself to go and greet to them. Lem made a quick list of what they were interested in, taking note of their reasons for requesting it - mostly items to help ward off winter colds - before waving to Mrs Tarro and heading away from the shop.

 

He headed deeper into the Garden District, trying not to get caught up in the history of the place. That part of Velas had already been recorded many times over in the New Archives. There was no need of him to make note of the design of the iron sconces or how the layout of the roads might reflect pre-Erasure life right now, not unless someone told him of a new use for them.

 

Lem pulled out his map of the city, looking it over. He’d been marking off the places that he’d talked to residents, trying to cover the city as evenly as possible. There was a tall building made of yellow stone on the corner of the block that wasn’t yet marked off. As Lem got closer, he could see a man outside it, leaning in the doorway as he sipped something out of chipped mug.

 

Lem took a deep breath, practicing his usual opening speech in his head as he approached the man.

 

“Hello, sir,” said Lem. “Not to bother you on such a fine day, but I was wondering if I could ask you some questions?”

 

The man looked him over. “We already had one of you come by a while back. Don’t know that there’s much more I can tell you.”

 

“One of … oh, an Archivist,” said Lem, “I, uh, I’m hear to collect different information, if that’s alright with you?”

 

The man eyed him suspiciously. “I don’t know much about the building. My ma knows more but she’s resting right now.”

 

Lem looked up at the building and _oh_ , he would very much like to know more about it: it was leaning to one side, not so much like it was collapsing and more like it had been built on a hill and then the hill had been taken away. The paintwork was peeling to reveal some of the older stone underneath it, and the carvings on the window shutters had been pummeled smooth by years in the wind and salt air. Lem’s hands _itched_ to take a part of the house, to study, to find where it fit into the broader pattern of things.

 

But, Lem reminded himself firmly, he wasn’t there for that.

 

“Actually, sir, I’m more interested in what you do,” said Lem.

 

The man blinked in surprise. “You must have me mistaken with someone else. I work down at the dock. I ain’t looking for any trouble.”

 

“It’s not any kind of trouble, I promise, it won’t take more than a few minutes of your time,” said Lem, “I’m just doing a sort of survey of the people in this district.”

 

“What does the New Archives want that for?” said the man suspiciously.

 

“I, um.” Lem’s face felt hot. A lot of residents had asked him that question, and he still wasn’t quite sure how to answer it. “We’re trying a new approach to collections, or an approach to a new collection, rather. It’s a sort of … _modern_ history? I’m just finding out what sort of things people do each day, get a sense of what their lives are like in general, you know, that sort of thing.”

 

The man sighed. “How long is this gonna take?”

 

“Not long at all,” said Lem brightly, “just a quick overview of, you know, what you do on an average day.”

 

“I don’t know that my average day is interesting enough to be recorded for any kind of history.”

 

“Oh _no_ sir,” said Lem, “I can promise you that the details that you provide to me will be endless valuable for future generations.”

 

The man took a long drink from his mug. “Yeah, alright then. Where do you want me to start?”

 

Lem smiled, pulling out his journal. “Anywhere you like.”

 

_Jeremiah Jenkins has lived with his mother in a yellow brick building on the outskirts of the Garden District his whole life. He wakes up every day before dawn, to boil water to make coffee for him and his mother. He then travels east to the Fish District where he works, travelling due north to the docks he has worked also his entire life. He tells me that his best friend is a man also named Jeremiah, that they met in school as young children, and that they got jobs on the same boat together. He tells me that his friend goes by Jerry when they’re on the boat, and that this Jeremiah goes by Jerry when he visits his friends’ house for dinner every Sunday evening. Jerry and Jerry eat a meal of pork, which is expensive, but that it is their weekly ritual so that they cannot stop now. Jeremiah is an only child, he drinks ale every night out of a mug that is light blue and chipped (he tells me that his father did it every night before him, and that his mother likes to keep traditions as much as he does). I asked him if he’s ever thought about leaving Velas. He tells me that he has lived here in whole life. That is his entire reasoning._

 

The sun was setting by the time Lem began to head back towards the room he shared with Hella and Fero. A few people waved to him as he passed, cheerful despite the cold. Most were people he’d interviewed, but a few were people he’d asked for directions from, or people who recognised him from his work during High Sun Day. A few of the shopkeepers, recognising him from being around the neighbourhood, nodded to him as he passed. Lem waved back to them without stopping, eager to get into the warmth.

 

Behind him, Fero flew from one signpost to another, following closely enough that Lem could see him fluttering at the edge of his field of vision. Lem paused at a crossroads and looked up to where Fero had perched on a nearby lamppost, resting his wings.

 

Lem opened his mouth to offer to let Fero ride in his coat the rest of the way, when he heard a familiar voice coming from around the corner that made him stop in his tracks. It was Morbash, speaking fast to someone in orcish. He was too far away for Lem to make out what was being said, but Lem knew the tone of voice well enough. Panic clawed up Lem’s throat and he looked around, trying to spot a place to hide.

 

He dashed towards an alleyway, ducking to fit inside the small side entrance of a house. His thoughts were a panicked jumble, snippets of the history of the house ( _Joth Lester, renting from their uncle at half-cost, works at the docks with their sister_ ) coming in between memories of running from the Archives (he could hear them right behind him, this was such a terrible idea but it was too late to go back, Fero pulling him towards an escape route) and the last time he’d seen Morbash (looking over at him from the other side of a table, his blade catching the light in the tavern). Lem looked to where Fero had been on the signpost, but he was nowhere to be seen (a small relief).

 

Morbash’s voice was closer now. It didn’t sound like he’d spotted Lem, but he was directing the other orc with him to do a sweep of the area. Lem had heard enough stories about Morbash from other Archivists to know what would happen to him if they found him. Lem hoped the noise of the city was enough to cover the sound of the pounding of his heart.

 

A shadow approached the entrance of the alleyway and Lem pressed himself as far as he could into the little alcove. The torch on the side of the door hung low, close to his arm. Lem flinched away from it, hissing as the flame almost came into contact with his skin.

 

The shadow paused. Lem froze, biting the inside of his cheek to stop himself from making any sound as the torch sputtered in the wind, the flames just beginning to lick at his skin.

 

“Did you hear that?” said Morbash.

 

The shadow moved closer, and Lem held his breath.

 

 _Please don’t notice me, please don’t notice me, please don’t notice me,_ thought Lem, trying desperately to work his thoughts into a melody that could help him.

 

The was a scraping sound. For a moment it brought to Lem’s mind the image of sword scraping on stone, the mental image of Morbash’s sword swinging through the air filling his thoughts.

 

The scraping was replaced by a fluttering noise, and a pigeon landed with an unusual lack of grace at Lem’s feet, cooing softly before strutting towards to entrance of the alleyway.

 

Morbash gave an annoyed grunt. “Just a dumb bird. Let’s keep moving.”

 

Lem stayed in place until well after the sounds of the footsteps had disappeared before he slowly peered out from the doorway. There, in the alleyway entrance, was the pigeon. It tilted its head at him and cooed again.

 

“Hello Fero,” said Lem, smiling down at the bird.

 

The bird half fluttered-half walked towards him, wings rippling and body growing until Fero stood before him, a halfling again.

 

“How did you know it was me?”

 

“I don’t know of any other pigeons that would come to my rescue,” said Lem.

 

“You don’t know,” said Fero. “Maybe I told the other pigeons to watch out for you. Maybe I  have a whole network of birds working for me.”

 

“I suppose you could,” said Lem, “I’m glad _you_ were here though.”

 

Fero ducked his head. “Yeah, well, someone’s gotta be. Come on, let’s go back to the room before it gets any colder.”

 

“I suppose it’s too late to get much more done,” said Lem.

 

Lem reached out to take Fero’s hand, wincing slightly as his sleeve brushed against one of the small burns from the torch.

 

“What?” said Fero.

 

“Nothing, just the cold,” said Lem, trying to tug his sleeve down.

 

Fero pushed the sleeve back up. “You’re hurt!”

 

“It’s fine, I was just,” said Lem, gesturing back to the small doorway and its flickering torch, “hiding in there.”

 

Fero frowned, turning Lem’s arm from side to side in the low light. “How does it feel?”

 

“It’s fine,” Lem lied, then flinched as Fero touched his skin close to one of the burns.

 

Fero gave him a look. “Sure, it seems that way.”

 

“I mean, it doesn’t hurt that badly, so it’s fine,” said Lem. “Let’s just go.”

 

“Okay,” said Fero, slipping his hand into Lem’s and tugging them towards the alleyway entrance.

 

“Okay?”

 

“Yeah, _okay_ ,” said Fero, “let’s go.”

 

“Well,” said Lem, “good. I’m glad you’re not making too big a deal about this.”

 

“Let’s go back to the room,” said Fero, “and when we get there, we can tell Hella about this, and _she’ll_ make a big deal about this.”

 

Lem stopped walking. “ _No_.”

 

“Oh come on, Lem,” said Fero, “what are you going to tell her, that you were asking a torch about it’s family history?”

 

“I’m not going to tell Hella anything and neither are you,” said Lem.

 

“Of course I’m going to tell her!” said Fero, letting go of Lem’s hand to gesture wildly, “Why wouldn’t I tell her?”

 

“Because she’s going to want to do that same thing that _you_ want to do,” said Lem, “and I don’t want _either of you_ picking a fight with the New Archives.”

 

“What, you don’t think we could win?” said Fero.

 

“I just…” Lem sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s not about whether or not I think you could win.”

 

“Then what _is_ it about?”

 

Someone had told Lem once, back at the Archives, that Morbash’s sword could slice through bone as easily as a hot knife passes through butter. Lem looked away, his stomach churning.

 

“Yeah,” said Fero, “that’s what I thought.”

 

Lem let out a shaky breath. “I just… please promise me that you won’t say anything to Hella?”

 

Fero sighed. “Lem…”

 

Lem took one of Fero’s hands in both of his. “ _Please_ Fero?”

 

“Okay, okay,  jeez,” said Fero, “I thought _I_ was the one who was supposed to be able to give people the puppy dog eyes.”

 

“Thank you,” said Lem.

 

They began to walk in the direction of their room. Fero swung their joined hands back and forth a little as they walked, and Lem smiled down at him. Fero looked up at their joined hands.

 

“You know you’re going to have to tell her eventually, right?” said Fero.

 

Lem bit his lip. “I know. Just… not tonight, okay?”

 

“Hey, I promised, didn’t I?” said Fero, squeezing Lem’s hand.

 

Lem squeezed back.

 

It was late by the time they made it back to the room. Hella stood up as they entered, frowning as she looked them over. Lem quickly put his injured arm behind his back.

 

“Now before you say anything, we have a perfectly good explanation,“ said Fero.

 

Hella frowned. “An explanation for _what_?”

 

“Um,” said Fero, “you know, just in general, just a general explanation to cover any questions that you might have.”

 

“Why would I have questions?” said Hella, “The two of you are adults, we’re not - you don’t need to tell me what you do every minute.”

 

“We meant to be back earlier,” said Lem, “but I got caught up talking to someone, and Fero, um, Fero…”

 

“I was just flying around and lost track of time,” said Fero quickly, “you know me, I love being a bird, but it’s hard to keep track of time as a bird, all the way up there in the sky.”

 

Hella looked from Lem to Fero and back again. Fero squeezed Lem’s hand again.

 

“Are you two-,” Hella huffed a breath, pressing her lips together before starting again. “Did something happen that I should know about?”

 

Lem felt a panic rising in his throat. He couldn’t tell Hella about today, because to tell Hella about today was to explain why he was in trouble, and to explain why he was in trouble was to explain why _he_ was trouble, for _both_ of them, and he couldn’t bear it, there was already so much difficulty in their lives without him being the cause of more.

 

So instead of offering an explanation, Lem kissed her. After a moment, she returned his kiss, dragging him forward.

 

”We _are_ going to talk about this,” said Hella, tugging at Lem’s shirt.

 

“Later,” said Lem, pulling the shirt over his head.

 

He felt Fero’s hands moving in-between them, and Hella gasped into Lem’s mouth.

 

Fero looked up at Lem, grinning, and Lem felt a rush of gratitude for his partner in crime. Hella could be almost as stubborn as the two of them when she wanted to be, not letting go of something until she was satisfied, and so they’d devised a system for occupying her. As systems went, it was a pretty fun one.

 

Hella walked Lem backwards towards the bed, her hands moving across his back. Lem worked at the buttons of her shirt as Fero stripped off her belt before starting on Lem’s. Fero probably would have been much faster at it if he hadn’t stopped every few moments to kiss whatever skin was within his reach. Not that Lem was complaining, gasping as Fero’s teeth grazed his stomach.

 

One of Hella’s hands made it’s way into Lem’s hair, and the other trailed down his side and then up again to run down his arm. Lem was so caught up, he didn’t even think about his wound until Hella’s fingers brushed across it. He drew back a little, drawing in a sharp intake of breath at the pain.

 

Hella seemed to come back to herself as she spotted the burn marks on Lem’s arm. She paused from where she’d started taking off her boots to check his wounds, holding his arm still as he tried to wriggle away. Her brow knitted together as she looked it over, her face drawing into an expression that was far too serious for the mood they’d been in just moments ago.

 

“Who did this?” said Hella, voice colder than the weather outside.

 

“He, I, we y’know,” said Fero, faltering as he tried to think of an explanation, “the docks! Boats! Fishing fires!”

 

Lem blinked at her, slowly. Hella could be a sword, but she was also driven to be a shield. He could see her reforming herself now, trying to work out which one she should be, how best to protect him. In his mind’s eye, Lem could see Morbash’s blade glinting in the firelight as he searched the streets of Velas.

 

He’d found that the best way to protect someone as stubborn as Hella was was to distract them. Luckily, in this instance he had help. Lem smiled, showing all of his teeth and tusks, making eye contact with Fero over Hella’s shoulder. Fero’s expression faded from worried to devious.

 

“Fero,” said Lem, “it’s time for plan C.”

 

“What’s, uh, what’s plan C?” asked Hella, a look of confusion crossing her face.

 

Lem and Fero _winked in unison_ , startling a laugh out of her. While her focus was shifted off his arm, Lem picked Hella up bridal style, and threw her onto the bed. Fero followed behind them, making quick work of her boots. Hella may have been a seasoned warrior, but the bedroom was the one place she didn’t always have everything planned out, and they’d found that they could use that to their advantage.

 

“I think I like plan C,” said Hella.

 

“If you think it’s good now, wait until we get to my favorite part,” said Fero.

 

“Don’t get too far ahead of yourself,” said Lem.

 

He pulled at Fero’s shirt, and Fero scrambled up onto the bed beside them, landing mostly in Hella’s lap.

 

“This is a nice bookend to this morning,” said Hella, grinning.

 

Lem thought back to that morning, the way Hella and Fero’s bodies had curled around each other in sleep. He thought of the other ways they might have joined together that morning, after he’d left.

 

“It’s a shame I missed it,” said Lem, leaning forward to kiss Hella.

 

“Well,” said Fero, sounding breathless, “you’re making up for it now.”

 

Lem hummed in agreement, deepening the kiss with Hella. She made a soft sound, relaxing against the mattress, one hand tangling with Fero’s and the other reaching up to cup Lem’s face.

 

Fero put a hand on Lem’s shoulder and Lem leaned back, letting Fero move forward to kiss Hella in his place. They traded off like that for a while, until all three of them were panting. They stayed with their faces close together, heads almost touching. The world had never felt smaller, shrinking to the size of their bed, a population of three.

 

Hella looked between the two of them, a slightly dazed expression on her face. “I’m definitely a fan of this plan, one of your best so far.”

 

“And that was just step one,” said Fero, grinning.

 

“Oh really?” said Hella.

 

She ran her hand down Fero’s chest and Lem’s eyes followed the movement hungrily.

 

“Really,” said Fero, trailing into a quiet moan.

 

“What if I have my own secret plan?” said Hella coyly.

 

“I have -” Fero broke off, gasping, “I have Lem on my side, right Lem?”

 

“Is that so?” said Hella.

 

“You’re always telling us that things would go better if we stuck to one plan,” said Lem, watching a flush spread over Fero’s chest as he squirmed in Hella’s lap, “we’re just trying to follow your instructions.”

 

He moved forward, taking Hella’s hand in his and kissing her again. Fero took advantage of Hella’s distraction to move down her body, kissing across her breasts, her stomach, the insides of her thighs. Hella gasped, breaking the kiss with Lem to look down at Fero.

 

Fero grinned, sharp teeth glinting in the low candlelight. “Time for step two.”

 

Afterwards, they lay tangled together in the warm darkness. Fero lay half on top on Lem, and Lem could feel his heartbeat where their chests were pressed together. Hella pulled the blanket over them, stretching out along Lem’s other side. Lem put his arms around both of them, drawing them close.

 

“You’re still going to have to explain to me what the two of you got up to earlier,” said Hella, her voice muffled from where her face was pressed against Lem’s shoulder.

 

“I will,” said Lem, “but tomorrow.”

 

Fero reached across Lem to slip his hand into Hella’s, clumsily tangling their fingers together. The warmth of Fero’s arm seemed to spread over Lem’s chest, and Lem smiled.

 

“Yeah,” said Fero. “Talk tomorrow, sleep now.”

 

Lem was back in the cavernous room at the New Archives, standing in front of the tribunal again. Everything there was exactly as he remembered it, perfectly preserved. The air was cold and dry, and it felt heavy in his lungs as he breathed.

 

“Lem King, do you have anything to add?”

 

 _Oh no_ , thought Lem, _Not again._

 

“I...don’t think I do?”

 

The orc nodded. “You’ve done fine work, bringing us these items for the collection.”

 

Lem felt sick. “About the, um, about the items -”

 

“Ah, here are the items now,” said the orc, looking behind Lem to the doorway.

 

Morbash was pushing the tall case towards him, the heavy fabric obscuring the view of what was underneath.

 

“Sorry,” said Lem, “I just need to …”

 

He pulled at the cloth, and it fell away. There, trapped under the glass like moths, were Fero and Hella. Their blank, glassy eyes stared back at him.

 

Lem sat up in bed, biting his lip to quiet himself. He took several deep breaths through his nose before he gathered himself enough to check Hella and Fero. Just like the morning before, they were both still soundly asleep. They were fine. It was just a dream. Everything was fine.

 

Lem tried to lie back down and go back to sleep, after all, it was still quite a while before the sun rose, but every time he closed his eyes his mind went to the image of the Hella and Fero in his dream. No matter how many times to opened his eyes to check that they were okay, he couldn’t seem to dispel the image from his mind enough to rest.

 

Lem sighed. He looked around the room, trying to distract himself. His eyes landed on his journal, lying on the floor next to his jacket. The perfect distraction.

 

Lem wriggled carefully out from between Hella and Fero. He’d go record some of Velas at night. Writing down a new aspect of the city was just the thing to get his mind off his dreams.

 

_Allow me to talk about the weather, for a moment. I’m writing from inside a small flower shop in the Sun District, because it is very, very cold outside. It is the coldest I have ever felt. A snowstorm arrived some time ago, on the Day of High Sun, and it has continued for such a time since then. Snow falls nightly, and every day the town streets look fresh and new. It’s been treacherous, however. Velasian peoples are accustomed to wearing short pants, short sleeves, light shoes. Unlike the snow elves of Aniq (to be detailed in another piece), the city and the peoples are not equipped for this harsh weather for such an extension of time. The florist, Mari, tells me about the small ray of hope in this cold weather: she has worked extensively on some greenhouse technologies. She tells me that Samothes, her God King, has kept the sun in the sky and pointed directly at her greenhouse so that her flowers always receive the sunlight they need. They do look beautiful and healthy despite the cold. Perhaps there are always good things that can come out of harsh indifference._

 

Lem had only meant to be away for a few hours, maybe try and capture the first few early morning stirrings of people beginning their days, but one interview led to another and before he knew it the sun was high in the sky.

 

Mari Kane, taking a break from her work at her aunt’s flower stall to tell Lem about the process of finding good flower sources in the current weather conditions, pointed Lem in the direction of a good place to stop for lunch.

 

“You tell them that I sent you,” said Mari, her Ordenan accent catching on the vowels, “they’ll give you a good price.”

 

Lem thanked her, heading up the hill. He’d have something to eat and then he’d head back to Hella and Fero. If they weren’t in the room, well, he could always ask around to see if anyone knew where they’d gone. He’d gotten pretty good at asking people questions.

 

A bell tinkled cheerfully as he opened the door to the small cafe. Mari had been right about this place, whatever they were cooking smelt _wonderful_. He made a mental note to go back and thank her.

 

Lem was so distracted looking at up at the menu scrawled across the signboards along the wall that he didn’t even notice anyone was behind him until a hand dropped onto his shoulder. A big, orcish hand.

 

Lem spun around, and immediately wished he hadn’t. It was, of course, Morbash.

 

“Morbash, hi!” said Lem, trying for casual and failing utterly. “Uh, fancy seeing you here. Listen, I’d love to stay and catch up but I was really just making a quick stop for lunch and then I’ve got to be getting back.”

 

Morbash didn’t release Lem’s shoulder. “Back to where?”

 

Lem’s dream floated to the top of his thoughts again: Fero and Hella under glass.

 

“Um, you know, just back to exploring the city,” said Lem. “Lots to record, I’m very busy.”

 

Morbash snorted. “What would you have to record here?”

 

On reflex, Lem’s hand touched the pocket with his journal in it. “Oh, just, you know, the city, the people. It’s all very interesting once you get into it.”

 

“The New Archives already has an extensive section on Velasian history,” said Morbash flatly.

 

“But not a _complete_ section,” said Lem.

 

This was perhaps not the best way to phrase it. Morbash scowled, and reached for the pocket with Lem’s journal. Lem made a noise of protest, but cut himself off when Morbash squeezed his shoulder, claws sinking through the fabric of Lem’s jacket.

 

Morbash flicked through the journal with his free hand. He frowned, looking back at Lem.

 

“What _is_ this?”

 

“It’s, um, it’s a history of Velas,” said Lem.

 

Morbash looked back down at one of the pages, raising an eyebrow. “No, it’s not.”

 

“I mean, maybe not in the usual sense,” said Lem, “but it’s a record of Velas as it is now, so it will be history _eventually_.”

 

“Why would the New Archives want this?” said Morbash, shaking the book in Lem’s face for emphasis, “Why would _anyone_ want this?”

 

Lem could feel his face heat up. “I just-. You know not everything has to be-! I, I thought-”

 

“You thought if you had something to offer, maybe the New Archives would just forget about what you did, how you _stole_ from us?”

 

Morbash moved in close to him, pushing Lem back against the counter. His claws sank deeper into Lem’s shoulder, and Lem cried out at the sudden pain.

 

“You thought you could just run away with your halfling friend and hide from us, hide from _me_ , in this city, until we forgot about you. But the New Archives doesn’t forget,” said Morbash, “and neither do I.”

 

Morbash span him around, slamming Lem against the counter and closing heavy handcuffs around Lem’s wrists.

 

“By the power of the New Archives, and with permission granted from the City of Velas, I am arresting you, Lem King of the New Archives, on the charge of theft,” said Morbash. He began to pull Lem roughly out of the shop. “You will be held here in Velas until such time as I can transfer you back to the New Archives for trial.”

 

Lem had no choice but to follow. The walk through the streets felt long, far longer than Lem’s mental map of the city would have suggested that it should be. He kept his eyes fixed on the ground in front of his feet for the entire journey, trying to ignore the grumbling of his stomach, the gaze of people staring at him as they passed by.

 

When they arrived, Morbash spoke quietly to a few members of the City Guards before marching Lem towards an empty jail cell. Morbash unlocked Lem’s handcuffs and pushed him into the cell. Morbash moved to shut the iron door, but Lem pushed back against it.

 

“Wait!” said Lem, “what about my journal?”

 

“Your…?”

 

Morbash pulled Lem’s journal out of his pocket, looking at it disdainfully for a moment before throwing it into the cell. He slammed the cell door shut, plunging Lem into darkness.

 

It took a few moments for Lem’s eyes to adjust. There was a thin window, set too high in the wall for even Lem to peer out of, and a small sliver of light coming in from under the door. In the corner of the cell was a patch of limp-looking straw and bucket.

 

Lem felt his way carefully across the floor until he found his journal, looking it over in the darkness to check for damage. It seemed undamaged, if a little dirty from being thrown on the floor.

 

He hugged the journal to his chest. He’d have to get it to someone before they left the city, maybe he could bribe a guard to take the journal to Fero and Hella. They’d protect it. At least one thing that he’d made for himself would survive, and that would have to be enough.

 

Lem wondered what Hella and Fero were doing now. He looked up to the small window, watching the fading yellow light. It must be late afternoon now - perhaps they were doing their own exploration of the city, Fero as a bird perched on Hella’s shoulder as they looked around the market. He thought of how they had both looked that morning, his last view of them, and his chest felt hollow. What would they think, when he disappeared from the city, from their lives, without a word? Lem wished he could see them, just one last time, to explain, and to say goodbye. They both deserved that much.

 

His stomach growled again, disrupting his train of thought. Lem sighed, leaning his head back against the cold stone. It was highly unlikely that Morbash would show him enough pity to provide food for him until tomorrow. There was nothing to do but close his eyes and try to escape for a short time into sleep.

 

He was in the cavernous room again, standing in front of the high pulpit. The air seemed colder this time, and Lem shivered, rubbing his hands up and down his arms to warm himself.

 

“Lem King, do you have anything to add?”

 

 _Oh gods_ , thought Lem.

 

There had to be something he could do to prevent this, some way he could change what was coming.

 

“Well?” said one of the orc elders.

 

“I, I was just wondering what the procedure was on returning the- returning the items?” Lem’s breath formed a small cloud when he breathed out.

 

The row of elders laughed.

 

“Return the items?” said one of them, still chuckling, “But you’ve such done fine work, bringing us these items for the collection. Ah, here are they are now.”

 

Lem turned to see Morbash, pushing the tall, cloth-covered case towards him. Lem tried to move towards him, but his legs felt like they were rooted to the spot. He could only watch helplessly as the case moved closer towards him.

 

As Morbash passed by, Lem pulled at the cloth and it slipped away easily. There, trapped under the glass like moths, were Fero and Hella. Their blank, glassy eyes stared back at him.

 

Lem jerked awake with a gasp. He looked to the ground beside him, thoughts spinning in confusion for a moment before he remembered where he was. Of course Fero and Hella weren’t here with him. It was good they _weren’t_ here, because it meant they were probably safe.

 

He swallowed hard, trying to force away the feeling of dread. Hella and Fero were _fine_. Just because he couldn’t see them, couldn’t reach out and touch them, that didn’t mean that any hardship had come to them. It was only a dream.

 

His heart had just begun to slow down to it’s normal rate when the door of the cell clanged open. The sudden sound made Lem jump, and he scrambled to get up to his feet, backing against the wall.

 

“Lem!”

 

Lem squinted against the bright light. “Fero?”

 

“Lem!” shouted Fero again,  throwing himself into Lem’s arms.

 

Fero wrapped his arms tightly around Lem’s waist, pressing his face into Lem’s stomach. Lem put his hands on Fero’s shoulders. Fero felt warm, and alive, and part of the dread still present from Lem’s nightmare faded a little.

 

“We were worried about you,” said Fero, voice muffled in Lem’s shirt.

 

“You… you were?”

 

“Yes,” said Hella, leaning in the cell doorway, her arms folded, “we were.”

 

“I…” Lem swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat, “I’m sorry. They, um, they didn’t exactly give me a chance to send a messenger.”

 

“That’s not -” Hella broke off with a sigh. “You should have told me, Lem. About Morbash.”

 

Lem looked down at Fero. “You _told_ her?”

 

“Okay, I know I promised,” said Fero, tilting his head all the way up to look at Lem, “but you were just like, _nowhere_ , and then we were looking for you, and someone said they saw you getting _arrested_ by, and this is a direct quote here, ‘some huge-ass orc guy,’ and I didn’t know what else to do! Besides, you said you were going to tell her yesterday anyway.”

 

Lem looked over at Hella, biting his lip. “I…”

 

“You should have told me,” said Hella, unfolding her arms, softer this time, “I could have _protected_ you.”

 

“I didn’t -” began Lem.

 

“You didn’t need anyone to protect you?” said Fero, cutting him off, “because you’re literally in jail right now, so that argument kind of sucks.”

 

“No, I-” said Lem, faltering as the memory of his dream resurfaced, making his stomach clench. “I was _going_ to say that I didn’t want either of you to get hurt because of something that was my fault.”

 

Fero sucked in a breath, his eyes wide. “Oh.”

 

“We would have been fine,” said Hella.

 

Lem flinched. “You don’t know that.”

 

“I know that this isn’t something you have to do alone,” said Hella.

 

“You don’t… I don’t want you to put yourself in danger for me,” said Lem.

 

“It’s not about whether or not it’s dangerous, it’s… We’re with you on this, okay?” said Hella.

 

Lem swallowed again. “I…”

 

“Yeah,” said Fero, “We’ll go wherever you’re going.”

 

“I don’t know that they’ll let you come back to the New Archives with me,” said Lem.

 

Fero grinned. “Oh, I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

 

Lem sighed. “I really think it might be.”

 

“Nope,” said Fero cheerfully, “because you’re not going to the New Archives.”

 

“I’m...fairly sure that I am,” said Lem.

 

“No, you’re not,” said Fero.

 

“I… really?” said Lem, looking to Hella.

 

Hella smiled. “Really.”

 

“I… how… I mean…”

 

Fero laughed.

 

“In this city, it’s all about who you know,” said Hella. She held out her hand towards Lem. “Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”

 

Hadrian was waiting just outside the cell for them. Hella gave Hadrian a small nod, and he smiled, moving forward to shake Lem’s hand.

 

“Lem,” said Hadrian, “I hope they didn’t treat you too badly yesterday, but we’ll get this sorted out soon enough.”

 

“I- It was fine,” said Lem, “I’m a little surprised to see you.”

 

“Hella got in touch with me,” said Hadrian, “She almost never uses her favors for someone else, so I pulled a little extra hard this time around, and it seems as though Samothes has smiled down upon us.”

 

Hadrian led them out of the holding area to a third room with a long wooden table. Morbash and two other orcs sat at the other end. Morbash looked... angry? Then again, Lem had never seen him with any other expression, so it wasn’t necessarily a bad sign. Maybe that was just how his face always looked.

 

One of the other orcs stood up as he entered. “Lem King, please, sit with us. We have much to discuss.”

 

Lem looked back to where his friends were standing. Fero gave two thumbs up, grinning widely. Hella and Hadrian nodded encouragingly, and Hella smiled. Lem took a deep breath, and moved to sit down across from the orc who had addressed him.

 

“I am Ellaire,” said the orc, “and this is Turak. I believe you already know Morbash.”

 

Morbash’s scowl deepened.

 

“Uh, yes,” said Lem, “yes, we’ve met.”

 

Ellaire’s lips twitched. “Indeed. You have been causing quite the stir.”

 

“I-” Lem began.

 

Ellaire held up her hand, cutting him off. “That you have caused a disruption is not up for debate. What we must decide now is whether the pattern that had been disturbed is worth attempting to repair.” She paused. “You may now make your case for the discarding of the old pattern, if you wish to do so.”

 

“I,” Lem took a breath, searching for the right rhythm of words, “When I took the violin it was without thinking of the consequences to the broader pattern, but since that time I have played it-”

 

“ _Played_ it?” said Turak, startled.

 

It was too late for him to choose a different line of argument now, so Lem barged ahead, trying to keep him voice solid, confident.

 

“Yes,” said Lem, “Many times. I have discovered that it has its own patterns, patterns that I can bring out of it, patterns that never would have been heard if it had stayed within the New Archives. And so I cannot find it in myself to regret taking it. If I had to relive the time again, I would repeat my choices in the same sequence.”

 

Ellaire nodded, folding her hands in front of her. One of the rings on her fingers glinted, drawing Lem’s eye. On the ring was a symbol he recognised well: the symbol for the Disciples of Fantasmo. Lem looked back up to Ellaire’s face, and she arched an eyebrow at him.

 

“So,” said Ellaire, “A new pattern presents itself in your actions.”

 

“Even if such a pattern cannot be erased,” said Turak, “does its existence make it a worthwhile one?”

 

Lem paused, biting his lip. Not everything that had happened since he had left the New Archives had been positive. He’d been tired, cold, and hungry often, especially in the early days. He’d had strange visions, and been attacked, and had to leave behind items of historical significance more times than he would have liked.

 

But he had also seen so many amazing things. The tower on the Island of Eventide. The city of Velas, the tempo of which he was only just coming to understand. Books, filled with forgotten knowledge. New people, all of whom had stories to tell him.

 

And.

 

Hella and Fero. Hella and Fero whom he had fought alongside, and shared meals and jokes with, who had come looking for him when he was in danger. Hella and Fero, who he got to wake up besides every morning and go to sleep besides every night.

 

“With all due respect, I feel that it _has_ been worthwhile,” said Lem, “Very much so.”

 

Turak hummed thoughtfully, looking towards Ellaire.

 

“There is also the second matter,” said Ellaire, “of your current project.”

 

“My current-. Ah,” said Lem, “I can explain-”

 

“Oh, I think it is fairly self-explanatory,” said Ellaire, “a very interesting project.”

 

“Yes,” said Lem, hesitantly, “it, um, it has been.”

 

Ellaire nodded again. She seemed to be waiting for him to speak. On the edge of his field of vision Lem saw Morbash take a breath to speak.

 

“It _has_ been very interesting,” said Lem quickly, “I feel that learning the rhythm of life here has tremendous value.”

 

“For what?” said Morbash.

 

“For understanding the lives of the people here,” said Lem. “For discovering new patterns.”

 

Morbash snorted. He looked as though he would have liked to disagree louder, but Ellaire silenced him with a look. Instead, he leant back in his chair, glaring at Lem.

 

“These have all been… noteworthy points,” said Ellaire. She and Turak stood. “Turak and I will discuss this privately for a moment, if you would excuse us.”

 

Lem looked at the wall opposite, trying to ignore the prickle as Morbash stared at him. The silence stretched on, the only sound coming from outside, the muffle noise of people walking past. Lem concentrated on their footsteps, trying to calm himself.

 

After what felt like an eternity, Ellaire and Turak opened the door. Morbash stood, and Lem scrambled to follow suit. Ellaire gestured for them both to sit.

 

“We have heard versions of the events from both of you now,” said Ellaire, “they align in some ways, but not in others. It has been Turak and my duty to discover the true pattern of what has happened, and to decide what form things are to take moving forward.”

 

She looked at Lem. “Lem King. You stole an artifact from the New Archives, an act for which you hold no remorse. For this, there must be a punishment. And yet, with this item you have uncovered patterns, patterns that would never have been discovered if the item had stayed within the New Archives.” Ellaire paused. “Turak and I have come to an agreement that will satisfy both configurations. You will be allowed to keep the item-”

 

“ _What_?” said Morbash.

 

“You will be allowed to keep the item,” repeated Ellaire, louder, “but you will no longer hold the position of Junior Archivist, and you will no longer be welcome in the New Archives.”

 

Lem’s throat felt dry. “And my history project?”

 

“You are no longer an Archivist,” said Turak, “How you chose to record events in no longer our concern.”

 

Ellaire stood, and the others followed. “I wish you good fortune on your new path, Lem King.”

 

“I- thank you,” said Lem.

 

Morbash opened the door with perhaps a little more force than necessary, pushing Lem out of the room. Lem could see Hella, Fero, and Hadrian, nervously waiting on a bench. It looked as though Hadrian was... telling jokes? Or attempting to.

 

“Enjoy your halfling and humans, Lem King,” spat Morbash, “And your _project_. It will never be truly recognized as something the New Archives will want in our halls.”

 

Lem looked at Hella, who was now laughing at something Fero was saying while Hadrian tried not to smile. He was on a new path now, but he wouldn’t be walking it alone.

 

He turned back to Morbash. “I think that’ll be okay, you know? There’s so many different ways to build a library.”

 

Fero’s face lit up as Lem approached the bench. “Well?”

 

“They said we can go.”

 

“Just like that?” said Hella.

 

“Just like that,” said Lem.

 

A slow smile spread across Hella’s face. “Good. That’s good.”

 

Lem turned to Hadrian. “Thank you for your help today. May I… may I come visit you at the church sometime? For my project?”

 

He held up the book that had caused him so much joy and trouble.

 

“I would like that, very much. May Samothes bless you.”

 

Hadrian smiled at Lem and Fero, shaking Hella’s hand before he left.

 

Fero grabbed Lem’s hand. “So what happened? Are you okay? Do we get to see Hella punch Morbash? He called me a dumb bird once and also he was mean to you, so I would like him to get punched-”

 

“I could punch Morbash,” said Hella, nodding thoughtfully, “Might even be fun.”

 

“No, no, it’s all sorted,” said Lem, taking Hella’s hand, “Listen, let’s just go home. I’ll tell you about it there.”

 

Hella’s hand felt warm in Lem’s as they made their way through the busy crowds, Fero flew ahead of them as they walked, making lazy circles in the air.

 

_The sun sets on Velas, a quick movement from light to dark, from heat to cold. The snow that falls seems to both go slowly without light to reflect onto it, but also quickly. When you wake up the next morning, there is so much more snow on the ground, and the shoveling must begin again. But before the shoveling, comes suppertime. The day’s fish is brought home, skinned, and cooked by wives and husbands and uncles and children in the town. Stories are told: A young human tells me a story about Red Jack, a sort of mythical and eternal creature, who eats nasty children who don’t do their chores. Spirits are drunk down and drunk often: the inn I am staying at with my companions features a brew called Red Cheek Cider - a fermentation of fruits from the surrounding fields mixed with thyme. Lanterns are lit at open inns (two for vacancy, one for non-vacancy, but still allowing people at the bar). The city slowly gets darker, and colder outside. But inside, in all of the family rooms in all of the small and big houses from the Garden to the Sun district - those rooms become brighter and hotter. A family finally back together again, becoming their own sun._

 

”So,” said Fero, after Lem had told them everything about what happened in that closed room, “does this mean you’re not an Archivist any more?”

 

“I … I don’t know,” said Lem, “I don’t know that I’ll ever stop feeling like one, even if the New Archives would probably prefer that I don’t call myself that.”

 

“Why did you...” Hella stopped and started. “Why would you leave somewhere that had always been your home?”

 

Lem paused, tapping at his tusks for a moment before taking his violin case from where it sat next to their bed and put it on the small table on which they were eating.

 

”I saw this violin,” began Lem, taking it out of its case. He checked it carefully for scratches or worn strings. “It was so beautiful,” he plucked a few notes here and there, testing the sound. “And I knew it would sound _so_ beautiful.” He bowed one chord, and then another. The sound seemed to echo in their small room. “But it would never be played ever again if it stayed there in the New Archives, because that’s not what they do.”

 

Lem put down the bow, and made eye contact with Hella. She knew that Lem did pattern magic through music, but she wondered if his eyes could do it too. The way he was looking at her made her breath catch in her throat.

 

He began to play something. Something... new? It that reminded her of Fero’s laugh, of a blow from her sword that hit true, of the way Lem’s tongue poked at a tusk when he was thinking intently. Fero’s hand slipped quietly into her’s, and he pressed his face into her arm as he begun crying quietly. Hella didn’t feel as though she blinked for the whole length of the song - she couldn’t look away from Lem.

 

The final chord hovered for a moment and then disappeared from the room like smoke, the feelings it had brought with it still wafting through the air of the room.

 

“Nothing new is ever created in the Archives, and I thought that was how things should be,” said Lem, not looking up as he put his violin back in its case, “but I met Fero, and he was something new. And he… he made me believe that I could be something new, too.” He paused. “Musical pattern magic is an entirely new concept, I’m the only one who can do this. I can play notes that make you stronger or weaker, chords that can bring buildings crashing down, songs that can erase memories.” He huffed a laugh. “A violin isn’t as intimidating as a sword, but I could still defend us, if I needed to.”

 

“That,” said Hella, her voice shaking a little as she moved towards Lem. Fero followed, seemingly unwilling to let go of her hand, “that was pattern magic? Did Fero hear something different from me?”

 

Lem shook his head, smiling shyly. “That was something new, too. It’s, um, the first song I ever composed, actually. I wrote it... for you two. For helping me be something new again.”

 

Hella put a hand on Lem’s face, and he leant into the touch. “It was beautiful. Thank you.”

 

Fero nodded, wiping his face before he reached out and grabbed Lem’s hand, kissing the knuckles. The sight of it made Hella feel winded.

 

“I-” Hella began. The words caught in her throat. She swallowing hard around the words that seemed too small for what she felt. “Let’s go to bed.”

 

She pulled them both towards the bed, Fero and Lem following easily. She couldn’t put her feelings into words, but she could put them into this well enough for them both to understand.

 

 _A pattern, as any semiotician knows, is something that happens more than once. More than twice, thrice, four times. A pattern is something that happens enough that you come to rely on it as fact, and only in understanding how complacency becomes fact do we understand how we can manipulate these facts, these patterns, these assumed truths to create reactions that we wish to see. A pattern can be anything: the walk from a Fish District home every morning to the docks, the taste of three herbs in crushed berries to create a tonic, the way the sun filters through leaves to help flowers grow. Patterns make life vibrant, and predictable, and able to function. Patterns allow us to move past the notion of recognizing patterns and to create our own. Only by creating new patterns can life continue to exist, to thrive._

 

Lem woke slowly, for once not woken by a bad dream but by a patch of sunlight shining onto his face. He screwed up his face against the light, rolling over and pressing his face into Hella’s shoulder. Hella ran her hand through his hair lightly.

 

“Good-” Lem broke off, yawning.

 

Hella laughed. “Good morning.”

 

Fero made a sleepy grumbling noise, fingers curling around the edge of the blanket. They both looked over at Fero, watching him for a moment where he was splayed out, limbs thrown over Hella’s side, his head pillowed on her shoulder.

 

“I guess you have to head out to do some more interviews,” said Hella.

 

“They can wait for a bit,” said Lem, stretching out before relaxing against Hella.

 

“You won’t miss something important if you wait?” said Hella.

 

“I’m already doing something important,” said Lem.

 

“Oh,” said Hella.

 

Lem felt his face go hot. Hella smiled, leaning forward to kiss him.

 

“Hey,” said Fero, still sounding half-asleep, “don’t start anything too fun without me.”

 

Lem and Hella broke apart, laughing. Fero was smiling up them both, his hair sticking up at odd angles. Hella and Lem both reached to smooth his hair down at the same time, and Fero laughed, taking both their hands in each of his. He pressed a kiss to their palms, first Hella’s, then Lem’s.

 

“Lem was just saying he has some free time before he starts interviewing people,” said Hella.

 

“Yeah?”

 

Lem nodded. “Any good ideas of what we could do?”

 

“Oh buddy,” said Fero grinning at them both, “I’ve got _lots_ of ideas, and they’re all _great_.”

 

It was near midday before they made it out of their room and out into the city. This time, Hella and Fero followed Lem as he trekked through the city, stopping to interview people along the way.

 

Pato Vargus ( _court reporter, currently cat-sitting for his aunt, Luth_ ), was happy but slightly hesitant about sharing so many details of his daily life.

 

“Are you sure the New Archives wants to know all this?”

 

Lem looked over at Hella and Fero. Fero was sitting on Hella’s shoulders, pointing at something on a higher shelf. Something he said made Hella laugh. In the afternoon light, everything around them looked golden and warm.

 

“This isn’t for the New Archives,” said Lem, “this is something new.”

 

 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> A post-credits scene is they cut back to this scene and Fero says, “Wait. It’s called the New Archives. How is your thing new too?”
> 
>  
> 
> And Hella says, “What’s newer than new?”
> 
>  
> 
> And Fero says “The New New Archives” and it makes Lem and Hella laugh a lot. Cut to the guy they’re interviewing, it’s Stan Lee, he gives an eyebrow to the camera.
> 
> \--
> 
> come say hi on twitter and/or tumblr: madelinestarr | mariusperkins


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